RAGE

“DON’T WORRY YOUR PRETTY LIL’ HEAD ‘BOUT IT...”

...yammy llargo rp sideblog to @xyuuken​ bc i’m a heathen slob;  if i follow back it’ll be from there, but you are under no circumstances obligated to follow ryuuken in return.

standard rp etiquette applied

Starter Call || @xyuuken​ ( YAMMY. ) 

❝  The girl is fine, before you set your mind to ask.  ❞ Tiresome, it had grown, for each and every Espada to make inquiry of Inoue’s faring in Las Noches. She was frail, weak of mind, and - in all truths - required space to acclimate. BEING A PRINCESS MUST BE EXHAUSTING,  he could not help but think, tasked with the duty of being her guard. Emerald hues move smooth, upward to meet  eye of the other, that which could be considered NEAR A FRIEND. 

❝  As am I.   ❞

“What? I don’t care about the girl.”  unlike some other members of the espada, yammy does not find the capture and imprisonment of the human girl overly interesting.  ... she was just going to die anyway.  or otherwise snapped and broken by the beasts of this land, like all the other weaker creatures who have the misfortune of finding themselves in hueco mundo.

“Everyone’s weaker than me.” Grimmjow reminds him, a smirk pulling at his lips, eyes bright with the challenge he’s just put forth. Daring Yammy to refute him. “But it still like knowing they aren’t a waste of my time.”

Grimmjow and Yammy have never tested their mettle against each other. And to be honest, Grimmjow doesn’t really mind. Yammy may hold the Cero rank, but Grimmjow’s never found it abrasive to be ranked lower than him. Theoretically, lower than him. Not the same way Nnoitra or Barragan pissed him off. Even now, its more a playful jab then a real invitation to find out. He’s teasing.

Yammy’s grip tightens in response to his half-hearted attempt to pull away, and that too Grimmjow is more than happy to oblige, unwilling to pull away from the warm contact they two are currently sharing. If anything, Grimmjows weight grows heavier, more comfortable to sprawl the length of himself across Yammy’s torso, seeking as much contact as he can manage between them.

Maybe feeding gets him like this. He hums, eyes lidding, indulgent.

“What’s it look like I’m doing?” Are his cannibal daydreams not obvious? “‘M doin’ what you asked.”

the cat’s doing something strange  (again).  and if yammy was honest -- as he usually is -- it’s one thing that keeps him interested in grimmjow.  he could never quite anticipate what grimmjow is going to do next. but somehow he doesn’t mind.  whatever strange and curious things grimmjow ends up doing, they don’t tend to bother yammy.  or more specifically... they don’t anger him.  and for a man as prone to anger as yammy llargo, that is miracle in itself.

grimmjow melts on him, even as he grips tight on the arrancar’s half-masked jaw.  and something strange happens inside yammy.  “What? Ya gonna do whatever I told ya to now?”  yammy grinned, stretching his full lips into the shape of sabres, curved in such a way that was both dangerous and oddly whimsical.

he stuffs his thumb back into grimmjow’s mouth again, pressing into the arrancar’s cheek this time, pulling his mouth open to where he could see the flashes of canines, molars, and the pink inside of grimmjow’s cheek.  “A’right, go on! If ya can break my hierro with just yer tongue, i’ll let ya take a bite outta me. No complaints!”

Grimmjow’s next lick is rougher, less focused on the taste of copper and reiryoku and more on the way Yammy’s hierro moves under his tongue. The Espada is dense with muscle, and both now and before, Grimmjow would relish in ripping the meat from his bones. He’s sure to be firm and tough all over, barely a hint of fat anywhere to marble up Grimmjow’s hypothetical meal, but he’d enjoy it either way. Now that he has fingers and incisors, better for tearing meat than his old set of fangs had been, he can more easily devour down to the bone, but the rough texture of his tongue has always been a boon for getting the last scraps before he cracks in to reach the marrow.

 Grimmjow’s mouth moves back up Yammy’s hand once he cleans off the blood coating Yammy’s forearm and tested the strength of his hierro with a few firm sweeps of his tongue. Just to see if it would redden and bleed. He hadn’t quite finished with the thumb, so he takes it back into his mouth until it becomes uncomfortable, his molars catching at the pad of his thumb thoughtfully. The thumb has a decently large artery in it, and when Grimmjow closes his eyes, he feels like he can almost taste Yammy over whatever prey coats his fingers. Can almost taste the spice of his reiryoku, contained just beneath his hierro. He’s slow to pull away, and quick to move to Yammy’s next two finger, tongue sliding between them. They taste less like Yammy. He wants to cut skin. A hunger for something more burgeons inside his ribcage.

His captured arm tenses, testing Yammy’s grip thoughtfully when the urge to sink his teeth into the soft tip of a finger swells. He pulls away to resist the urge to bite through the pair, lips settled on the tips as he considers.

“I prefer my meat firm. Means my meal wasn’t a weakling.” A canine tests the surface tension of his finger again. “Nothin’ dead’s got hierro like yours anyway.”

“Why do you care if yer food’s weak or strong? If ya eat it it’s weaker than you.”  he grumbles, but his eyes are fix on grimmjow’s mouth -- the corner of his lips flashing the pointy tips of the cat’s incisors; grimmjow’s tongue against his skin, and the way those lips take in and suckle on his thumb.

the strange warm feeling grows, heating up and spreading through his chest and trickling down his abdomen, underneath grimmjow’s flat stomach lying against his.  it’s an urge that makes him want to jam his thumb harder down grimmjow’s throat, to feel inside his mouth and make him moan.

Is. Yammy. A Virgin.? 👀 👀

ok so i'm actually a little bit on the fence about this? at least with regards to his hollow life. i'm sure as a human pre-death he had had experience. hollows, on the other hand, aren't necessarily sexual, since all the desire is channeled primarily into hunger. becoming arrancar apparently brings back some nuances of human desires and needs... so it's not that i think he's not capable or uninterested. it's just like........... whomst?

he doesn't exactly get along with people, and unlike some other folks in las noches, he didn't have many "fans" among his peers. he didn't even have a fraccion as far as we know.

but again, just because we didn't see an onscreen moment doesn't mean there weren't or couldn't be someone. las noches' basically a military base or the world's most problematic summer camp -- either way, when you lock so many bored, frustrated and pent up people together for so long, shit's bound to happen.

so... i guess what i'm saying is for the sake of argument, i'd say he's not a hollow virgin... thanks to the Brave Souls of las noches asdfdj

“Wha-?” Grimmjow pauses when Yammy catches hold of his jaw, an unsuppressed shiver tingling down his spine as rough, warm fingers press into his mask. He’ll never get used to the sensation of another person touching it. It’s been a long time since he considered it something fragile and breakable, but the instinct to shy away remains.

Yammy’s firm grip doesn’t allow for that, and Grimmjow’s not known for running so he softens his jaw to allow Yammy’s thumb between his teeth, tongue sweeping over brown skin to relieve it over the sticky, bloody coating, blue eyes avidly watching Yammy in a sort of morbid curiosity that only grows when he hollows his cheeks and sucks, the sharp blade of his incisors scrapping across his hierro as he draws away. There’s a twitch in Yammy’s arm. Surprisingly, it’s not the sort that precedes violence, his muscle bunching against Grimmjow’s spine and he arches to accommodate, only resettling when Yammy reaches for his wrist instead.

That feels more like a threat, but it’s fun. For a second Grimmjow thought Yammy was broken. He still has Yammy’s other wrist in hand - it’s a fair trade.

“’S meant for lickin’ meat off bones,” he grins, and leans back in, licking a stripe up Yammy’s firm forearm.   

the inside of grimmjow’s mouth feels warm and... slick. it’s to be expected, but somehow yammy’s still a little surprised.  the irritable, reckless cat looks like he’s all spikes and bones, all hair raised and claws out, not an inch on his body’s supposed to be soft or inviting.  that’s what started their conversation to begin with -- grimmjow looked too thin.  it’s probably what got him so moody, yammy thought.

but things changed.  casual curiosity grew into genuine interest.  he learned more about grimmjow;  his temperament, his thoughts, his history, and his feelings.  he also learned that there are parts of the hollow that are soft.  warm.  even nice to the touch.  ( his hand closes around the man’s jaw... beneath the hard boney structure of the hollow mask is the soft underside of his throat -- )

“Hmmm?” Grimmjow echoes him, lashes batting in a mockery of innocence. He’s full of shit, of course, and he doesn’t doubt that they both know it. Slow as Yammy can be on occasion, that large thumb presses pointedly against Grimmjow’s lip to reveal the sharp fangs hiding behind. He knows exactly what Grimmjow must be thinking about.

He allows his lips to part - not obedient, but just as aware that he’s within skull crushing distance as much as Yammy is within devouring distance - drawing tight in a toothy smile and flattens his tongue against the offered pad of Yammy’s thumb. The blood doesn’t taste particularly delicious, but the reiatsu imbued in it is like a drug to any hollow, promising to fill the hole inside of them and he eagerly chases the coppery taste for the little hit of satisfaction the morsel grants him. Grimmjow is under no delusions though: it won’t, and never will be enough. Consuming someone like Yammy however….

He wraps one leg around the bulk of Yammy’s waist to stabilize himself as the giant pulls him closer and speaks against the flat of his thumb, “Somethin’ like that.” It’s remarkable how much larger Yammy is compared to him, the width of a single thumb is almost the same as Grimmjow’s tongue, his hands nearly twice the size of Grimmjow’s own.

he watches the tip of his finger disappear under grimmjow’s lips. there’s a strange tingling sensation growing in the pit of his stomach, where grimmjow’s weight sits upon. an unfamiliar feeling, not hunger nor rage, but a different urge that sends a shot of electricity through his muscles. they contract in his arms, leaping under his skin and bulking against the fabric of his long sleeve as he stares in concentration. yammy catches grimmjow’s chin in his hand, squeezing slightly against the fragment of hollow mask and the strong angular jaw.

@cer0diez​ / @xyuuken​ asked: grimmjow licking  blood  off  yammy’s  finger.

A    BLOOD   LUST    INBOX    MEME.

Grimmjow likes to push boundaries, see how far he can go, dancing across the line until he triggers an explosion. Maybe that’s what inspired him to play this particular game, seated as he is across the larger espada’s lab, one clawed hand capturing the man by a large wrist.

The source of the blood is long gone, vanished down the Diez’ gullet no doubt, but the remains are free earnings. A prop for Grimmjow’s entertainment.

Blue eyes watch intently for any indication of impending threat as his jaw lolls open, cat-rough tongue snaking out to slowly drag through the thick red coating of blood on Yammy’s large finger. His teeth mere millimeters from biting out their own morsel.

“Hmm?”  yammy watches grabs at his arm like a toy, like a cat grabbing at a tree branch to hoist itself up high.  he could easily pull away. it wouldn’t take much effort from him at all.  but he doesn’t. instead, chestnut eyes fix on grimmjow’s teeth as they flash behind half parted lips.

what comes next is not the sharp pain of canines breaking through skin, however. though it’s not entirely soft or gentle either — grimmjow’s tongue running along his finger, lapping up the blood and gore, feels rough and barbed to the touch.

it tickles.

Grimmjow shrugs in agreement. It’s true. Szayel is a bit mad by his measure, and he’d say he has a pretty good grasp on the sanity spectrum. “Guess so. Ain’t that important anyway is it.” If they die they go down. If they don’t die, they’re stuck here. Not exactly optimistic prospects. Maybe with Aizen…

“Made?” Grimmjow’s, lip curling, his voice underlined with a snarl. He fucking hates that term. No one made him. He made himself. Aizen was a catalyst. Appreciated but non-essential. Grimmjow would have gotten here on his own. With or without him. He would have! “Aizen didn’t fucking make me.” He’s not a toy. None of them are.

The very idea of such ownership is something he rebels against every day. Aizen’s Espada, his pack. Grimmjow acknowledges that he’s a part of that, but that’s the extent of his affiliation. He has his own people. 

Blue eyes slant, narrow and irate, upwards to the larger arrancar. Yammy should know better. He should understand. He’s arrancar. Hollow. But. Maybe Yammy never had a pack. Maybe he doesn’t get it. “And I didn’t evolve in a fucking hole.” The memory drains some of his irritation away. Replaces it with. Exhaustion maybe. A sort of tired resignation. He was on the sand, as he always had been. Sharp grains of bone shifting through his fingers, under his knees. Scraping at hierro that hadn’t firmed yet. Oversensitive. Shaking. Exhausted. He felt strong though, under all the fresh feeling. Strong but raw, like he sacrificed something. Lost or traded away something valuable. He can’t remember what though, but his fracción - they look at him differently now.

And he was starving. Still starving, always starving. Incomplete. It hadn’t been enough. What Aizen offered him, what he delivered. It wasn’t enough.

“Aizen didn’t make shit.”

yammy snorts -- he clearly touched a nerve and made grimmjow angry, but he doesn’t seem overly concerned with that. he understands anger; how it feels and what it could lead to. those things tend to be the same, a common denominator that joins them all in this hell hole. but where the anger comes from? now that’s a different story. it could be as same or dissimilar between individuals.

as far as yammy’s concerned, that’s what makes people different from one another.

grimmjow is angry because yammy said aizen made him, while it’s not something that could get a rise out of yammy -- and that’s because they are different people.

“Chi...” the cero huffs through his teeth, “Why ya let somethin’ like that bother yar? Aizen turned me int’ an Arrancar, with the broken orb or whatever. That don’t make me angry at all. But if it gets on yer nerves I can say it a different way.”